Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge
by Twinz'n'Rozez
Summary: Yay! This is my first fic for Edgar and Ellen, who really don't get enough love. Title comes from an album by My Chemical Romance. Please R&R.


A huge, seven-foot man stood menacingly over the shorter boy. The predator's eyes were small, beady, and squinting down at the victim. The tattered overalls clung to his large body as he stepped even closer to the boy, his maniacal smile forever plastered on that terrifying face. He pulled his accordion out from behind his back and began to play what sounded like a funeral-dirge-meets-the-circus-type tune.

While trying to scramble away a bit too quickly, the boy tripped over his own feet and crashed to the ground. In contrast to the grinning accordion-player, the boy's big, bulging eyes appeared to have an outer circle of pale yellow. His tousled ink-black hair had soaked up most of his sweat as he had been running from the prowler. The delicate, pale, heart-shaped face was even whiter than usual as the boy frantically searched for a way out of the total blackness.

The man handed the boy his accordion. His eerie tune still echoed through the night even after he'd stopped. But all the same, he wanted someone to continue to carry out his threat.

"Play it," he boomed.

The sound of his voice sent a chill up the boy's spine, especially this was the first time he'd heard it. Ever. The sudden shock sent him into a frenzy; the little free will he had screamed at him to play the accordion. So play he did, and to his surprise, he was really quite good at it. Suspiciously good. Horrifyingly good.

The answer to this sudden skill lay deep within the large man's unwavering eyes. He was controlling the boy's actions now. There was literally nothing the victim could do but play.

As the boy played, his master slinked of into the shadows, still controlling his long fingers. He soon returned with a large axe. But, as frightened as he was becoming, the boy still couldn't move any other part of his body.

The deep, ominous voice returned, calling, "Edgar…"

He took another step toward the boy, Edgar, who began playing the accordion faster, unable to escape.

"Edgar…"

He took another step, larger than the first.

"Edgar!"

He lurched. Everything was black.

"Ed-GAR!"

Edgar's huge eyes flew open. He violently sat up in his bed, panting and sweating like a maniac.

The voice who was shrieking at him now was that of his twin sister Ellen, who looked almost exactly like him but with pigtails. She stood impatiently at his bedside, hands on her hips, waiting for him to say something.

He gulped before stuttering in his hoarse voice,

"H-Heimertz."

Ellen rolled her eyes. "What nightmare did you have this time?"

"Well, uhh…" Edgar trailed off. "I don't really remember precisely what happened – "

"BROTHER!"

" –but he did talk this time!" he proudly recalled. He shivered shortly after at the memory of the man lurching at him in his nightmare.

Ellen's face morphed from apathetic to excited.

"No way! What did it sound like?"

Edgar thought. "Umm…"

"Of all the things to forget, Edgar."

"No no, I didn't forget. It'll come back to me later."

"Uh-huh. Sure."

Heimertz was the creepy caretaker, who supposedly cleaned the dreary mansion and yard in which the twins lived. However, neither Edgar nor Ellen noticed anything ever get any cleaner. He also didn't talk, at least not to the twins, and he almost always appeared when they least expected it. His insane smile and large, spooky presence haunted the twins even when he wasn't around.

The twins bounded down the stairs together for some breakfast, as they usually did at 8:30 in the morning. They slowed as they reached the kitchen, which was covered in cobwebs and dust bunnies. Just like the rest of the place. How lovely.

"What's for breakfast today, Sister?" Edgar asked as he sat down at the rickety table. Ellen almost always made breakfast.

Ellen taapped her pointy chin. "Mm… how about some oatmeal?"

Edgar recalled the last time his sister made oatmeal : she'd sabotaged his bowl with chili powder and some of his own werewolf potion. He'd been stuck with a beard for nearly two weeks before he'd found the remedy – chicken liver.

"Uh, Sister?" he said nervously. "How about some pancakes instead?"

Ellen seemed to consider this option. She shrugged.

"Sure, why not?" She flashed him an evil grin as she slinked over to the pantry.

Edgar sighed and slid further into his chair. He heard Ellen cackle to herself shortly after.

"I'll get her back somehow, whatever she's plotting," he told himself. After all, he pretty much always did. He cleared his throat.

"So, Ellen," he said, "what's on the agenda for today?"

"Hmm," Ellen thought as she stirred the pancake batter. "We could pay our beloved Gadget Graveyard a visit after breakfast."

This proposal excited Edgar; most of the seemingly-useless-but-really-quite-useful items in his bottomless satchel came from the junkyard next door.

"Oh, yes! And then maybe go into town and scare the birds and blow up the fish and maybe dupe a couple of baloneyheads, using my ingenious – "

"Whoa whoa whoa, what was that?" Ellen raised an eyebrow. "'Baloneyheads'?"

"Hey, it's the first thing that popped into my head," Edgar replied defensively. "What would you have said?"

Ellen thought as she spooned batter into the pan.

"Well…"

"Yeah?"

"I don't know… but 'baloneyhead' is childish and stupid. What the heck _is_ baloney, anyway?"

"You know, that's actually a good question," Edgar admitted. "That stuff Mayor Knightleigh eats, what, ten pounds of at those dinner parties?"

"Those are hor'dourves, you senseless dolt."

Edgar glared at Ellen. Ellen glared back. He stuck his tongue out. She stuck her tongue out farther. Then Edgar broke into a smile.

"You know, that wasn't a bad insult."

"What, senseless dolt? It's one of my favorites."

"I can see that."

They both smiled at each other, although they both knew that the moment of conflict had been fun too.


End file.
